Promises Over Pizza
by Eomara
Summary: Dean is still reeling from a meal with Death, and Crowley has (unsurprisingly) fled the scene. But he can't drive back to Bobby's alone with all the thoughts in his head. S5E21. Featherlight Destiel.


Nope. That didn't just happen.

Dean looked down at the magnetically joined rings in his hand and still couldn't come to terms with the fact he had just had what was decidedly delicious pizza with Death. He had sat down in a restaurant with Death, whose only other occupants were corpses. Not only had he sat, he had talked…no, he had been talked to by the Horseman.

Hand fisting over the rings, he shoved them into his pocket while glancing in the rearview mirror of his most beloved, almost expecting Crowley to sit up in the back seat. Backstabbing bitch of a demon – just left him there alone with Death. Not that Dean could argue the point that the Horseman wasn't exactly the best dining company. The rumbling thunder of the engine awakening calmed his nerves, and in an effort to normalize things, he jammed a tape into the player.

He could barely hear the music. His mind kept wandering back to the sounds of an incoming storm outside that were background to a knife and fork scraping over a plate. The Horseman had excellent manners, although Dean supposed he had time to work on them. Somehow he thought Death might be more like Crowley; only settling for the finest things in life. But no, he sat in Rinascita Pizzeria like any other, and for a second Dean wondered if he had killed everyone at the same time, or killed the other patrons first, then the staff after he got his pizza.

By the time he hit open road, he was still struggling with the idea of Death being older than everything. He wished Sammy were here, though he'd never admit it aloud. Even in his kamikaze plan mode, his younger brother would've willingly been his sounding board for this. How was Death created, if Death was older than God? Shaking his head quickly, like a dog shaking off an irritation, Dean pulled onto the side of the road.

" 'To a thing like me, a thing like you…' ". Dean couldn't get that one comment out of his head. Yeah, he and Sammy weren't Horsemen, but Death hadn't said, "things like us", meaning his other brothers.

" 'At the end, I'll reap him too.' " At this point, Dean leaned forward and bumped his head against the steering wheel. To finish it, Death knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Sam's plan was going to work. Dean recognized that confidence, that complete calm of absolute knowledge.

He was hungry and tired. Not that these were particularly new feelings to have. The difference was that he had just had a sit down, nearly a damn fireside chat, with what had to be the most powerful thing he'd seen or heard of. It had taken something out of him – the combination of being geared up for a fight that didn't happen and talking to something that killed with barely a twitch. He hoped that Sam's act of domestic terrorism had gone more smoothly.

"Cas?" That was the best he could muster up for a prayer. Head leaning back, he looked at the ceiling for all of a half second before his angel appeared.

"Yes, Dean?" Calm and cool as a lake in autumn, the angel turned from his position in sitting shotgun. The scratches through his left eyebrow reminded Dean of his mortality, another thing he didn't want to face right now.

He pulled the rings from his pocket and stretched out his arm with the four symbols of the Apocalypse resting heavily in his palm. Cas moved across the seat to inspect them, his concentrated frown returning full force.

"You were successful. What then troubles you?" The angel made up for his lack of general human knowledge with his observations, or at least that's what Dean told himself.

"I had to promise to let Sammy base jump into the cage, no parachute." This was what bothered him the most – he hated that this is what it all boiled down to. All the fighting, all the pain, and this was the best they had? It was easier to focus on this than it was the nature of Death. That wasn't a monster, he realized, it was something he was deeply familiar with. He didn't blame the slick-haired pale man for the death of his mom or dad, but he thought that losing so many maybe did put him a more even playing field with Death.

"Dean, you look ill." Again with the observations.

"I'm okay, Cas." He responded a little too quickly for the angel's liking.

"You look as if I had just flown you somewhere without any warning." The blue eyes had left the rings long ago and were taking in every movement, miniscule or not, of the world-weary human.

"You sayin' I look constipated?" Dean scowled, leaning back to turn and level a glare Sam would be proud of.

"There's something else on your mind." Well, he wasn't wrong, but Dean wasn't sure where to start.

He had already driven two hours, and had another six or so to go before getting back to Bobby's, and if this wasn't an opportune moment to talk to the angel, he wasn't sure what was. Dean didn't know what was going to happen with the big showdown and realized this could well be the last time he could talk with Cas. He must've frowned again with the thought of such a chick-flick heart-pouring moment, since Cas leaned deep into his personal space.

"Dean?" The angel's voice sounded far off, as he stared intently at his baby's wheel, so many times he had gripped it tight in an effort to do what he thought was right. And right now, hands loose in his lap he felt near useless. He fingered War's gold ring, connected as it was to the other three.

"What am I gonna do if Sammy jumps? Death made it sound so damn easy, but when you're sitting across from him, you're not thinking about what it means to you – just…just getting out of there alive. I can't keep that promise, Cas, I can't." He looked away from Cas, glancing out the window at the road.

The silence from the other side of the car made him wonder if Cas had upped and flown, as unlike him as that would be in a situation like this. So he turned, and the angel was looking out the front, not quite scowling, but not quite questioning, somewhere in between. Dean had never known someone to chew over their words quite so much, his entire life had been surrounded by either gut reactions or lying silence.

"Dean, in this instance I do not think I know what the correct thing is to say. You are far too cynical and experienced for comforting words, and I cannot lie to you."

"You want to expand on that thought?" Dean weakly gestured with his right hand.

"On the journey to Niveus, this plan was under discussion." Castiel paused, expecting an outburst from his charge, but received no such noise. He searched the torn expression of the righteous man and decided he could press on. "It requires great risk, but the reward is…well, you're aware."

"Yeah, I'm aware." He bit out, glaring out onto the road. Silence again permeated throughout the car, like the fog that was settling post-near apocalyptic storm.

"Like you, I cannot keep a promise regarding the outcome of what will happen, Dean. As much as I wish I could." The angel nearly whispered the second sentence, but his charge heard it regardless. Turning to say something, anything to him, Castiel reached over, clasping his left hand over Dean's right, causing them both to grip the joined rings. Dean's open mouth closed and he looked directly into blue eyes that wouldn't leave him. "But I can promise you will not face it alone."

Dean found he could breathe again, that the bleak future maybe wasn't quite so dismal. He started up Baby again and pulled out onto the road, the rest of the drive not looking as stifling. He reached over and stowed the rings in the glove compartment and snapped it shut with a confidence he hadn't felt in days. If he rested his right hand on the seat between himself and Cas, and if Cas replaced his hand over Dean's, rings forgotten for the next six hours, that was just between them.


End file.
